


All That You Hold

by Viking_woman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Experimental Style, F/M, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Torture, More angst, Post-Trespasser, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: They had left him here, to die alone in the dark. The veil is down, but the price had been too high.





	

_The Dread Wolf had succeeded in his plans. The Veil fell. The world changed. Most mortals clung to their existence, adapting. It was what mortals did. But the false Gods had endured their imprisonment too long, and when the Veil broke, so did their prison. Their only thoughts were vengeance, and Fen’Harel was the target of their fury. Blood and ruin swept in their wake, and all of Thedas was in flames._

 

 ---

 

“I am coming with you, Cassandra.”

“No. You cannot.”

“I am not an invalid!”

“It is not that. But you will be compromising us. I fear you will not make sound decisions. I am sorry.”

“That is not fair, Cassandra!”

“No, but it is the truth. I know how you must feel, but…”

“You are right. It is far too fraught with feelings for me. But please, my friend, please…”

 “I know. And I will.”

Cassandra looked evenly at the former inquisitor, nodded, and strode off.

 

\---

 

_Drip_

 

_Drip_

 

_Drip_

 

He can hear his blood hitting the floor beneath him.

It is trickling down his legs, from his shattered knee and the patterns carved in his flesh. Every breath he takes is needles stabbing his chest. His can barely feel his hands, his broken wrists carrying his weight in the manacles.

 Andruil is nothing if not an expert at this.

The pain is dull, however, compared with the fire that burns inside him. It would kill him soon. But not just yet. Elgar’nan’s fire applied with maximum suffering in mind.

Vengeance they said. He supposes that is true enough.

 

_Drip_

 

_Drip_

 

_Drip_

 

They had left him here, to die alone in the dark. The veil is down, but the price had been too high. The Evanuris would leave only death and destruction in their wake.

He wonders how long it would be. He can not slip into unconsciousness. No, he is awake and lucid enough, just enough, to feel the loneliness gnaw as his soul.

He is alone. And he will die here alone.

 

_Drip_

 

_Drip_

 

 

_Drip_

 

 

 

There is a loud noise – a hallucination surely. Or have they come back for more torture?

“He is down here!” a woman barks. He knows that voice.

People enter the room. A loud boom and popping feeling of magic being dispelled. Templars, here? He can feel the bindings on his magic fade away.

He remembers the voice. The Seeker?

His eyes are sticky with blood, but he opens them. Yes, Cassandra is here. A straw haired girl. He knows her, too. A man in the shadow by the door. A mage he thinks. Why are they here? They will be found soon.

“Sera, can you get him down?” Cassandra’s voice is tight.

“Yes, let me get up a bit.” Sera vaults on top of a small table.

 

_Anduil’s fingers skimming it. Running over the gleaming instruments. “Crude, what these mortals fashion. But effective too. Don’t you think, my dear wolf?”_

“Shit. Fuck. Arse. This is going to hurt, elven man. God. Whatever. “ 

He attempts to speak. Something is wrong with his jaw, he thinks. He should tell her something, but he is not sure what. Leave him. They should leave him.

She jostles his hands trying to open the bindings. He can still scream, it seems.

Then he is sliding down the pillar. Limp, lifeless.

“Let’s get out. This place is bad. I have more arrows. I saved one for you, you arse. But I don’t need it.” Sera doesn’t look at him.

Cassandra slides her arms under him and lifts him, cradled against her chest.

“Seeker…” he gets out, lips stained with blood. He needs them to go.

“Solas. I will try to be careful, but it will not be a smooth ride out of here. Just – just keep breathing.”

Cassandra looks up then, across the room. “Dorian – can you do anything here. I have no potions left.”

“I'll try. As much as it pains me to admit it, you know those are not my talents and less so in these conditions.”

He can feel a healing spell wash over him. He can't tell if it helps. Dorian’s face is drawn tight, white.

_Elgar’nan paces around him. “Hmm, do you regret anything? You should. This will not be fast.” He can feel his flesh knitting together, muscle and bones repaired partly. “Can't have you die too soon. No.” A flash of fire. A hand on his chest. Indescribable pain running in his veins. “This will take a while. Get used to the loneliness.”_

It doesn't matter much. Healing won't help him. The pain, the fire is still there. Dull and relentless.

Cassandra starts walking.

He doesn't understand why they came. They are not his allies. They are fighting his enemies. But he is no use anymore. Or are they friends? He can't tell anymore. Who is friend and who is foe. Millennia of fighting and struggles, memories crashes like waves in the ocean of his mind.  

The Seeker’s movements are sharp, hurried. He finally slips into unconsciousness.

 

\--- 

 

He wakes in soft furs, a cool hand stoking his face.

“Ma lath,” she says. Beautiful. Soft eyes looking down on him.

“Vhenan… you came for me?” He can no longer feel the dried blood on his face. He is washed clean.  

“Of course I did.”

“I am afraid it is too late. No healer can cure this.”

“My love,” she says, tears sliding over her face. “No, I was not too late. You will never be alone again. Rest now, my love. I am here."  
  
She is all around him. Her smell. He can feel his end is near. His head is in her lap. It is more than he deserves. He can feel the darkness closing in on him. She leans her face close, kisses his brow. He is ready. Yes. No. There is one last thing.  Breathe in. Breathe out. "Live for me, vhenan," he whispers.

He gathers everything he is, everything that is him, inside. And with his last breath, he _pushes._

 

 

As her lover dies, her sobs are no longer silent. She slumps over him.

Then her head snaps backwards. A raw scream tears from her throat, as two columns of silvery light raises from Ellana Lavellan's eyes.

  
  


\---

 

_After The Return, Fen'Harel was hunted, since he had set the People free from the Creators. And Andruil's arrows struck him, and Elgar'nans fire burned him. They caught him, but they could not keep him. Because one of the People loved the Dread Wolf, and he loved her back, and he was set free. Those who called themselves Gods thought themselves safe, but Fen'Harel's love revealed them for the imposters they were. Fen'Harel's spirit lived in the People, and the false Gods could not stand against them._

_We are the Free Elven, the beloved of Fen'Harel, and to no man nor god shall we submit._

_The Fall Of The Gods, as told by Keeper Tarren_

 


End file.
